


Of Ocean Creatures and Wind Blown Sails

by MashpotatoeQueen5



Series: The Problem With Galas [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: A smol angry smol bean, Alfred Pennyworth - Freeform, And we are all okay with this, And yells at them, Batman - Freeform, Batman is Batdad, Bruce Wayne - Freeform, Bruce Wayne is a Good Dad, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Bruce Wayne is intensely awkward, Bullies, Bullying, But Bruce comes help anyway, But we still love him, Dad Bruce Wayne, Galas, Galas are horrible, Gen, God I love their relationship, Grown ups being mean, He never wants to go to one again, In this instance, Insults, It's JASON, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd Swears, Jason Todd is Robin, Jason Todd is a smol bean, Jason is so unimpressed, Jason takes care of himself, Jason-Centric, My goodness he's so protective, Not bad swearing?, Protective Bruce, Protective Bruce Wayne, Robin - Freeform, Socialites - Freeform, Socialites are cruel, Socialites are not nice, Some Swearing, Swearing, Yaaaay Bruce!, and loved, but yeah, daddy bats, daddy!Bats, give him a break, he must be protected, i couldn't get away with not doing it, jason todd needs love, kid jason todd, well he's trying at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-24 21:50:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14364426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MashpotatoeQueen5/pseuds/MashpotatoeQueen5
Summary: Galas are an issue, because something always goes wrong, and no one knows this better than Jason Todd. (It's a bit of a problem, actually, but he can always depend on Bruce to get him out of trouble.)In which Jason is elevan, utterly unimpressed with this whole gala thing, very much done with rich people and way too used to going it alone, Bruce is trying to make sure his kid doesn't kill anyone, and there are socialites.They figure things out, eventually.





	Of Ocean Creatures and Wind Blown Sails

Jason Todd did not like galas.

He did not like suits, which choked him like they’re sole purpose in life was to suffocate him. He did not like the strange fancy finger food that tasted like it was made of either paper or goo, with no in between. He did not like the shouted questions and bright flashes of cameras, or really reporters in general. He did not like the too expensive decorating, where most of the stuff was more expensive than his mom’s entire old apartment. He did not like the wide open spaces where there was nowhere to hide or easily escape from.

Jason Todd. Did. Not. Like. Galas.

In fact, the only thing Jason Todd hated _more_ than the galas themselves was the people that attended the things in the first place.

_Socialites._

Bruce had taken him aside right before boarding one of his many limos- _And why does one man need so many cars? Why?-_ and placed his hands on Jason’s shoulders, saying, “Just one hour, okay champ? One hour and then we’re out of there.”

Jason had nodded and rolled his eyes. Bruce had smiled and sort of looked like he wanted to ruffle Jason’s hair, only to not do it at the last second. (Probably because of the hair gel. Alfred had taught him how to put in, and Jason thought he did it rather well.) He would have knocked the hand away if the older man had tried it, but the fact that Bruce even considered doing it was… nice.

Not that he would say that out loud.

( _He had a reputation to maintain, after all.)_

Right before exiting the limo, Bruce had put a hand on Jason’s shoulder and had said, partly hopefully and partly cautiously, “Try not to bite their heads off _too much,_ yeah?”

At the time, Jason wasn’t really sure what Bruce was talking about.

How he wished he would have remained in ignorant bliss.

Socialites are _idiots._ Even worse, they’re _pigheaded idiots._

His first plan of attack had been to simply stick by Bruce’s side and the older man take all the attention, questions, and torture, thus leaving him to his own devices. Would it be boring? Sure. But it wouldn’t be too bad.

After the third old lady with _way_ too much makeup on to be healthy had pinched his cheek- _and really, he was eleven, not two-_ and commented on how cute he was, Jason had figuratively thrown that plan out the window, and half contemplated the idea of jumping out after it in a far more literal sense.

He didn’t, but it was a close call, and he wouldn’t say the concept wasn’t out of the workshop completely: if he got _really_ desperate, Jason was 86.3% sure that he could clamber down the sides of the building without breaking anything.

The point was, he couldn't stick by Bruce. The man was like a giant lighthouse to every rich smoozcher in the entire city. He couldn’t track more attention if he wrote SUPER RICH GUY on his forehead with bright pink sharpie.

...which would be really funny, actually, when Jason thought about it. He would have to add it to his list of pranks.

He smirked. Evilly.

_Perhaps this gala would be good for something after all!_

“Is that that Todd boy?”

_Never mind. Spoke too soon. Abort! Abort!_

Jason scowled. His spot between two window sills had been spotted and zeroed in on, a group of rich people making their way towards him with fast yet somehow slow and relaxed looking movements. He couldn’t help but feel like a guppy in the middle of a great sea of sharks, and it was not an analogy that he liked applying to himself.

But that was fine. Those sharks were about to learn that this guppy had _teeth._

The first lady, the one who had spoken with such a disdainful voice in the first place, had a ball gown on that probably had enough fabric to make a tent that could easily shelter a family of five, and a prominent cleft chin in the midst of her rather heavy set features. Jason decided to call her ‘Buttface.’

The man by Buttface’s arm was, in contrast, almost twig like in comparison. His expression was tightly pursed, lips puckered downwards as if sucking on something extremely tart and unpleasant, and his blue orbs were watery and judging from their sunken depths. He was dubbed ‘Lemonwuss.’

Behind them was another couple, slightly older than the first. The man, while of handsome enough features with his sturdy jawline and peppered hair, had a cruel gleam to his eye. Jason nicknamed him ‘Gatsby,’ because Gatsby was rich and self centered, and this man seemed to fill all the criteria as well.

The final lady had a massive plume of hair that was obviously a wig and so much red lipstick that Jason was quite sure she wouldn’t be able to taste anything but makeup for days. For lack of a better name, he called her ‘Ruby Lady,’ and vowed to think of a better title later.

The socialites circled closer, slicing through the crowds like fins through water, and Jason quickly looked around for an escape route that he could take that wouldn’t be too obvious.

There wasn’t any.

So he sighed and straightened up a bit. It couldn’t be that bad, right?

_Wrong!_

It was very, very bad.

“I do believe you’re right, Karen,” said Gatsby, his thin lips turning upwards in a smarmy smile that Jason instantly hated. Buttface- that is, Karen, although he wasn’t going to call her that- nodded serenely, peering down at him from several feet away as one might peer down at a particularly disgusting rotting worm corpse.

“Hmm,” remarked Ruby Lady, “I don’t know _how_ Brucie manages. I mean, just look at the boy! He’s obviously feral.”

Jason bristled.

Lemonwuss took a sip of his drink- smacking his lips afterwards far too loudly to not be on purpose, in Jason’s humble opinion- and nodded serenely, as if he had some higher power knowledge about the entire world.

“I believe the man has had one too many drinks. I mean, really, letting a _street rat_ into his home. The thing’s probably going rob him blind-”

_Aaaaand_ Jason was done. If Bruce asked, he could cite his remarkable patience and his solid attempt at ignoring the comments. He could also cite how he was defending the man’s honour. That ought to earn him _some_ favor, right?

Didn’t matter. Those idiots were going _down._

“Um, yeah, _hi._ This street rat would like you prissies to stop talking about him as if he’s not literally _three feet away from you.”_

Gatsby frowned.

“Young man, that sort of language really isn’t appropr-”

Jason crossed his arms.

“Shut it. You don’t get to preach on manners after insulting me _to my face_.”

Ruby Lady raised her chin, speaking overly loudly even as she put on a face of fake scandalized shock over her features.

“See, what did I tell you, Ronald! Positively _feral-”_

He rounded on her, pointing accusingly even as he scowled, “At least I’m not some vain scarecrow who feels the need to wear a _wig_ of all things-”

And now Lemonwuss was taking a few steps forward, towering over Jason with his lips even more heavily pursed and his eyebrows angrily tilted downwards. He was ridiculously skinny, but he was tall, and Jason had to resist every street kid instinct inside of him that was screeching at him to _run away!_

(Jason had been beaten up far too many times too not know the warning signs of angry men.)

Instead, he gritted his teeth and looked the guy in the eye. This wasn't the streets. This was a _gala._ The guy couldn’t throw a punch at him even if he wanted to. Lemonwuss had no power over him.

Except-

“You should be _ashamed of yourself!_ Why, of all the greedy, terrible, miserable things to do, you choose to disgrace the man who took you in!”

_Wait, what?_

Buttface chimed up, her high pitched voice grating on Jason’s nerves in all the wrong ways.

“What did you expect, Harold? It’s obvious that the street rat wasn’t raised with any manners. His mother was probably a harlot-”

“My mom was an _angel,_ you utter fu-” _wait, no, Alfred didn’t like it when he swore with that word- “_ fudgin’ cunt!”

It was this moment that the situation got out of hand.

More people joined the group, sharks sensing the blood in the water and converging towards it. Suddenly, it wasn’t Jason against four nimrods, it was Jason against _a sea_ of nimrods.

And Jason was _losing._

They just kept _coming._ More and more of them, with their too fake smiles and their too fake faces and their snide insults and side eye glances. They didn’t _know_ him. They shouldn’t get to _judge him_ and _make fun of him_ and decide who he was based on where he came from.

They shouldn't.

But they were.

And they _just kept doing it._

They were _everywhere,_ surrounding him, and everytime he turned against one another would pop up and add salt to the injury. Their voices were in his ears, in his head, whining and nagging and booming and _too loud._

They were _laughing_ at him, _cooing at him, mocking him._

After all, what could little Jason Todd know about anything? He was just a street rat. He was just a stupid street rat with an alcoholic overdosed mom and a deadbeat dad with no schooling past the third grade. He was just a _thief,_ and a _coward, and worthless, and a waste of space who should just off himself and save everyone the trouble-_

He was just _Jason._

And Jason wasn’t very much at all.

His fists were clenched tight into fists by his sides even as his teeth grinded together. He could feel the wetness in the corner of his eyes- _don’t cry, don’t cry, if you cry they_ _win_ _-_ even as he shouted himself hoarse - _they don’t know anything, they don’t, they don’t-_

The colours of the dresses and suits and ties and fancy too expensive decorations were too bright, blurring together in a kaleidoscope of hues. The sound was everywhere, too loud and intense, and his ears were ringing so loud that Jason thought he was going to _explode._ He was _shaking, shaking, shaking,_ and he wasn’t even sure why. He was just- it was just-

_Too much, too much, too much- he needed to fight, he needed to get out, he needed to get away- TOO MUCH-_

And suddenly all the voices stopped, and all Jason could see was blue.

He blinked.

Dark navy blue.

( _The whale, his mind thought, distant and far away. Here is the blue of the great blue whale, come to scare the sharks to different waters.)_

He blinked again.

It was the dark navy blue of Bruce’s suit, and hidden in its shadow Jason was out of sight, out of mind. Nobody could touch him, or reach him, or fight or yell. It was just him.

He was safe.

He hissed a breath between his teeth, then another.

Closed his eyes and pressed his fingers against the edges, pressing tight against the wetness that still lingered.

_He’s fine, he’s fine, he’s fine._

Bruce was talking, and Jason couldn’t quite make out the words yet for the ringing in his ears. Everything was a bit distant, and Jason sort of wanted to find a hidey hole to disappear into for a few hours until the whole world came back a bit more manageable, till his body stopped being too much for his head to handle.

He brought his hands down and clenched his fingers, released. Took another breath.

_He’s fine, he’s fine, he’s fine._

Focused.

Bruce was talking, and Jason needed to know what he was saying.

( _You can trust him,_ part of his mind whispered,  _Whales aren’t out for guppies- even guppies with teeth- they’re just out for those meant to hurt.)_

(Jason ignored it.)

_Breathe._

Jason breathed.

_He’s fine, he’s fine, he’s fine._

The ringing in his ears wavered and puttered out, like the whine of an old radio being tampered with. Bruce’s words filtered in distant at first, and then louder. The tone registered before the meaning, sounding cordial and polite and utterly in control, and for a few moments Jason felt his heart drop to his stomach.

_Bruce was on their side._

Then Jason realized what the man was actually _saying._

“-frankly ashamed of my fellow peers for conducting themselves in such a manner against an eleven year old boy. I hope you all go home tonight and think long and hard about what you were saying, and how to possibly rectify your actions in the future…”

He droned on, except everyone was hanging off his every word. He managed to hit all the right points, sounding polite and even encouraging, praising certain traits and highlighting others in such a manner that everyone was thoroughly scolded and yet not at all offended about it.

Jason listened with a kind of quiet astoundment, making it his personal goal to achieve such a level of eloquent speech. He wouldn’t waste it on socialites, but it would still be _cool._

And then-

“Let’s go home, Jason.”

The nerves were back.

Quietly, in his head, Jason swore up a storm. Outside, he silently followed Bruce, shoving his hands as deep as they could go inside the pockets of his jacket, head down and eyes tracing the heels of Bruce’s shoes.

He could feel the stares on his back, the quiet murmured whispers in his ears, and it was making his skin crawl.

They got into the car, and everything was quiet.

_He’s fine, he’s fine, he’s fine, finefinefinefinefine-_

And then-

“Pompous turd waffles?”

Jason’s head shot upwards, eyes wide as they landed on Bruce’s own.

“Yeah- well, Alfred doesn’t like it when I swear. I had to get creative.”

The older man nodded, face contemplative. Jason tilted his head, because he could swear that Bruce’s blue orbs were crinkling in what almost looked like-

“Nice. Remind me later, and I’ll teach you some better ones.”

_Amusement._

Jason cracked a grin, nerves washing away.

“I’d like to see you try, old man.”

Bruce laughed a bit, a real laugh, the one that sounded more like a gust of air leaving the sails of a ship than a chuckle.

_He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s fine._

A few minutes later, Jason sloppily took off his suit jacket, bundling it up and tucking it between his head and the window. Alfred would probably yell at him- or as close as the elderly man got to yelling, really- but that was fine, he could deal.

Except, Bruce had an arm around his shoulders suddenly, tugging him towards him until he was cushioned by the older man’s chest. Jason tensed, freezing, not knowing what to do.

He should pull away. He _should._ He had a reputation to maintain.

But….

But-

But Bruce was a whole lot more comfortable than some window.

_He’s fine._

So Jason, slowly, cautiously, relaxed into the grip. Bruce let out a pleased sounding hum, and Jason hid his smirk into the lapel of the man’s jacket.

(It wasn’t like anyone could see him, anyways.)

_I can get used to this,_ he thought.

He closed his eyes.

_He’s fine. He’s good._

_He’s good._

He dreamed of the sea, of whales and guppies and sails on an ocean’s breeze.

There wasn’t a shark in sight.


End file.
